


just in case of surging lustful desire

by suitablyskippy



Category: Gintama
Genre: Attempted Roleplay, Erotic Corporate Seduction, Gen, Sado-Masochism, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 20:45:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6922753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suitablyskippy/pseuds/suitablyskippy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sacchan undoes the next button of her blouse. “Let’s talk about the company accounts, Gin-san,” she says, no less briskly professional than she is irresistibly sensual. “Let’s talk numbers. Let’s talk figures. Let’s talk my figure, prostrate across your managerial desk for your viewing pleasure, blindfolded and restrained and utterly helplessly subject to every last one of your darkest cruellest most <i>violently </i>inhumane whims—”</p><p>(Sacchan's ready for her Monday morning debrief. No one else is, but that won't stop her.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	just in case of surging lustful desire

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Incandenza, for the prompt 'Sacchan + Gintoki, you can be the boss', and originally posted [here on tumblr](http://uzumakiwonderland.tumblr.com/post/143695528154/sacchan-gintoki-you-can-be-the-boss)!

 

Thrillingly dishevelled and unspeakably erotic, Gintoki slouches in from his bedroom, one hand scratching at his balls. 

Sacchan adjusts her glasses, adjusts her clipboard, adjusts her pencil skirt and crosses her legs. Then she uncrosses them and crosses them the other way, slower this time, just in case the first time wasn’t enough to drive him into a frenzy of surging lustful desire, or just in case it was but he’d like a repeat of it anyway, or just in case she hadn’t been leaning quite far enough forwards to start with. “I’m ready for my morning… _debrief_ , Gin-san,” she says, and sucks the end of her pen alluringly between her teeth. 

It’s the wrong end. Ink squirts into her mouth. Sacchan retches, coughs, and spits up a blue puddle onto the Yorozuya coffee table. 

Gintoki looks at her. Then he removes his hand from the front of his pyjama trousers and shakes his head once, sharply. He looks at her again. 

Sacchan undoes the next button of her blouse. “Let’s talk about the company accounts, Gin-san,” she says, no less briskly professional than she is irresistibly sensual. “Let’s talk numbers. Let’s talk figures. Let’s talk my figure, prostrate across your managerial desk for your viewing pleasure, blindfolded and restrained and utterly helplessly subject to every last one of your darkest cruellest most _violently_ inhumane whims—”

“This infestation again?” says Gintoki to himself, lamenting as he goes to his desk. “Pachi cleans as thoroughly as he can, but it always comes right back; there must be crumbs somewhere, or a trail of jam on a windowsill…”

The airing cupboard slams open and Kagura sticks her head out into the room, squinting blearily against the light. “You ought to set traps, Gin-chan,” she says, with sleepy authority. “Call in the exterminators. Get the place gassed out, uh-huh. You don’t wanna let anything stay here long enough to breed.”

“I’d rather just have cockroaches,” says Gintoki. “At least cockroaches don’t squeal when you stamp on them. Oi, ninja, why’s your stalking so obvious today?”

“Ninja?” says Sacchan, and presses her hand coyly to her cheek. “I don’t see any ninja here, Gin-san. All I see is a stunning yet sexually inexperienced young secretary whose uptight professional demeanour and tendency to button up her emotions along with her breasts nevertheless fail to conceal her yearning, desperate urge to submit like the filthy animal she is to a man, a _real_ man, a man who could teach her about belonging on her knees and investment banking and stock market fluctuations and dirty little bitches who don’t deserve to wear clothes on weekends and international exchange rates. And I see the powerful, thrusting CEO who maintains iron control over each and every aspect of his innumerable successful multinational businesses. And I also see the girl who refills the staplers,” says Sacchan, “who has no right to be here for our _highly_ intimate private Monday morning debrief session, Gin-san! Tell her to get out!”

“ _You_ get out!” says Kagura. She bounds down from her airing cupboard, already much more lively; nothing ever wakes her up faster than a fight. “Gin-chan, I want a raise!”

“Done,” says Gintoki. He kicks his bare feet up onto his desk and produces an aged pudding cup from a drawer. He lifts it to the light and eyes the best-by-date speculatively. “Find me a spoon and you can have a promotion, too.”

Kagura dives into her task with zeal, burrowing through the densely layered strata of neglected paperwork atop Gintoki’s desk like some forest animal preparing her nest for winter hibernation. Papers are tossed aside in every direction, a whirling snowglobe frenzy. 

“ _I_ wouldn’t want a promotion,” Sacchan informs her loftily, “because _I_ wouldn’t presume to seek anything more from life than the profound erotic satisfaction of existing solely for the sake of one man’s sordid pleasures, and the lowly, humble joy of typing up his meeting minutes.”

“ _I_ want a promotion cos I’m gonna be company president after Gin-chan gets murdered by an industry competitor,” says Kagura, “and then I’m gonna sell it all off to space traders and take an early retirement so I can spend the rest of my life sitting on that river bridge down near the Shinsengumi station spitting watermelon seeds at people when the boats go past. Five points for a body hit, uh-huh, ten for the back of the neck if it makes them twitch, fifty if you get it right on their head so it bounces off and hits someone else as well—Ah- _hah_!” she crows triumphantly, and upends a several-month-old copy of Jump to reveal a small plastic spoon. 

Gintoki accepts it, licks it clean, and digs in. “Congratulations, Kagura-chan – you’re promoted. You’re company secretary. You should write to that old baldy of yours; his last remaining hair would wriggle with joy if he heard about his little girl making waves in the cut-throat world of business, I’m sure of it.”

Sacchan hurls aside her clipboard and leaps to her feet. “Gin-san! _I’m_ company secretary!”

“No, you’re not,” says Gintoki, “you’re fired, and I’m filing for workplace harassment. Clear your desk and get out, you useless four-eyed pervert.”

“Fired?” shrieks Sacchan. “ _Fired_? After all I’ve given you, Gin-san? The best years of my life, and the dearest dreams of my heart, and the first and last of my innocence, and my private gold access members-only card for Miss Belladonna’s Hell On Earth XXX Club? All that, Gin-san! All that — and you _fire_ me?”

Her passionate cry rings from the rafters. She stands there, hot in the face and breathing hard, and ignores the irritable thumping on the floorboards from Gintoki’s downstairs neighbours. 

Gintoki licks the last traces of pudding from his spoon and tosses it back into the paperwork chaos. “Call security,” he tells Kagura, in an undertone, “I’m revoking this woman’s employee pass; she needs to be escorted from the building,” and Kagura bounds merrily off to stir Sadaharu from his slumber. 

But a thought has struck Sacchan, and she’s not listening. “All that,” she repeats, much less hotly this time, “and you _fire_ me…?” She reaches up to yank her hair from its seductively prim topknot and lets it tumble wildly, freely across her shoulders instead; she shakes it erotically loose and fixes Gintoki with a look of fiery, passionate pride. “Oh, you’ll see me in court, Gin-san. You’ll _certainly_ see me in court. In handcuffs, and chains, and my skimpy prison-issue bikini, led into the courtroom on my hands and knees by the cruel bite of a whip, to face the mocking jeers of the public gallery and the shame of the gathered crowd—”

 

+++

 

When Shinpachi knocks at the front door and lets himself in, a little later, only Kagura is there. 

“Gin-chan forgot it’s rubbish collection today,” she tells him, sprawling negligently upside-down across the couch. “He’ll be back in a minute, uh-huh. Did you bring food, Pachi? I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and that was almost two minutes ago; I’m starving, I’m _dying_ …”

Shinpachi fends her off from his grocery bags. “Does it smell of natto in here, or am I imagining things?” 

“Imagining things,” Kagura assures him. “Is that a pack of biscuits? You don’t want those, Shinpachi, you’ll rot your teeth; but I’m a Yato and I’ve got super-fast healing, including for teeth, uh-huh, so I’ll have those and you can take this celery instead, you’ll be _much_ safer that way—”

 

+++

 

Out in the alleyway behind the snack bar, Gintoki crams another wadded handful of newspapers into the dustbin and forces the lid down again. This time, when he holds his breath, he can hardly hear it: the sensuous erotic moaning from inside the bin is muffled to nearly nothing. 

He turns to leave. Then he turns back. 

He gives the dustbin’s steel side a kick that leaves it ringing – a parting favour. 

And then he wipes down his hands, and makes a determined, whole-hearted effort to scrub the whole morning’s events so far from his memory; and Gintoki goes back inside to start the day afresh.

 

 


End file.
